Situation
by planet p
Summary: AU; a late night telephone call from Jarod brings unexpected news. But trouble may be brewing on another front, also. One that none of them has even had cause to think about. Or maybe they have... Emily/Mr. White
1. Chapter 1

**Situation** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

Jarod glanced down at his watch, waiting for the time to tick by until it was 4 A.M. He'd have liked to have called sooner, but 4 A.M. had become his calling card, and so he stuck with it. He had some news for Miss Parker that he thought she might like to hear, and perhaps she'd be gracious enough to let him in on her reply. After all, it applied to them both and effected him as much as her. He just wondered how she might take it.

4 A.M.!

He picked up his phone eagerly and began dialling. Miss Parker picked up on the third ring, answering, this time, with, "I know it's you. Don't try to be sneaky, I happen to recognise your voice over the telephone."

"Who didn't you recognise?" he asked, figuring that such a comment can only have come from the fact that she'd mucked up somewhere along the lines that day, or the day before – any number of days in between his last call, really – and hadn't recognised someone who'd obviously thought she ought have.

"Who do you think, genius!" she replied irritably. "That idiot who has the disgusting humour to call himself my brother!"

"You didn't recognise him over the phone? Why was he phoning you?"

"No, I didn't, or else I would have promptly hung up, as is your forte, I should remind you; I can learn new things, too. As to why he was calling; I have no fucking idea whatsoever! When I did catch on to who he was, I hung up. Why waste my effort asking why he's ringing, when it's easy, just put the phone down, and then he's not ringing any more, is he? Quick thinking, that's what it's called. Why the fuck are we talking about me? Why the fuck, I should say, am _I_ talking about me? You're the walking mouth, you do some of the talking! My mouth's tired."

"The walking mouth?"

"Don't complain, I could've said something else. Smile and spit out whatever crap it was you were going to spit out before I interrupted like the ignoramus I am when I've just be woken rudely at four in the morning and yet find myself in a surprisingly forgiving mood."

Jarod suppressed a sigh, deciding that he'd just jump in or else she'd probably go on. He didn't know what medication she was currently taking, but if there was a drug that could make you a bit of a chatterbox, it was that. "You mightn't know this, in fact, I doubt it very much, and I just found it out, but..."

"But?"

"You have a clone."

"I do?" Miss Parker replied with scepticism.

"You do," he answered.

"Why would... I have a clone?"

"That makes a good question, I realise. Well, first thing's first, you do have the anomaly."

"No I don't."

"You do."

"I hate-"

"Nevertheless-"

"All right, what's your theory, then, wonder boy?"

"Do you know something?"

"Something, naturally; but what you're thinking right now, no!"

"You've got to think up something more original than 'wonder boy'; it's really starting to get on my nerves."

"That's why I like it!"

"Well, think of something else. It sounds like I'm a walking advert for a bakery or something."

Miss Parker sighed, from the other end of the line. "There are some places that your mind goes that I just don't want to know about, wonder boy," she told him.

"Is there something particularly menacing about a bakery?"

"Not particularly, no. Go on; what's your theory?"

"Mr. Parker is no longer around to stop, say, anyone who had the means and who wanted to, from training your clone as a Pretender. That's my theory, in a nutshell."

"A valid point. And I assume you know who's bright idea this was?"

"Barb."

"Bollocks, a real bitch!"

"What?"

"B.A.R.B.; Barb. She's a bitch. Trust me, I know. We've met: Bitch! Chair of the Alabama branch, numerous awards for her great and extensive work in redefining the meaning of _bitch_; Barb Loginov, who, I might add, isn't Russian. Ergo, it's doubtful that you'd be able to fill her full of vodka and tell a few jokes, make sure there's a little something to snack on, and – what do you know – suddenly you've got Happy Barb! No, never! Her second husband was Russian, not Barb, and he's dead. Her daughter, I would hasten to add, is also dead. Oh, and her son."

"Her daughter _and_ her son?"

"Her daughter and her son!" Miss Parker confirmed. "Alex, who I don't have words to describe in this language."

"No?"

"No! So, _who_ the fuck gave her the keys to the mad scientist's laboratory and _what_ the fuck where they _on_?"

"I think-"

"Stop thinking!" Miss Parker snapped. "If anyone's going to rescue this kid, it'll be Lyle. Because I want him _dead_! Yes! And his clearance is, regrettably, far snazzier than mine."

"And how are you going to swing that one?"

"Are you forgetting his inappropriate obsession with me?"

"Are you forgetting that you despise him?"

"I'll just have to work something out, then, won't I? How old is this kid, just out of interest's sake?"

"Two and a half."

"Kids don't deserve shit like that, Jarod! No kid does! And does it make any difference that she's practically my baby sister? Well, shit, yes, it does! Leave it with me and I'll work something out, but don't think I'm handing her over to you when I do; no way, genius. I'll work my own little something out, thank you."

"You're as pleased as ever to hear from me, I hear."

"You would be too if you'd just been put into the situation I'm in. Smile and wave!" She hung up.

Jarod looked at the phone, displeased. She'd hung up on him! More than that, though, he didn't like the sounds of her making do or working something out, at all.


	2. Chapter 2

"There's a child; a clone, in fact, and I want her."

"Her?" her brother asked.

"Yes; she's my clone. She's currently being housed in the Alabama branch. Do you think that's right? She's our sister, and we don't have the right to see her, to even know of her existence!"

"There're a lot of things the Centre doesn't want us to know, sis. What can we do about it, in reality? Very little."

"She should be with us!" Miss Parker breathed with a fair amount of menace. "We need to be together; we're a family, Lyle. For our own safety, for the safety of Reagan – your _son_ – we need to rebuild this family. We've got to be stronger than them, and a damn sight more ruthless, when the need necessitates it. You're a Pretender, you know how it works. We do what we need to to survive. You know as well as I do why Jarod is out there, because he believes that he needs to be, to _survive_, to live with himself. That's because of us, because of our idiotic handling of the situation. Our _mishandling_ of the situation. All of those years, he never really understood people, and now he's trying to make up for it, he's trying to be something that he has had no practical understanding of. They'd led him to believe that he was something special, but they didn't give him the chance to be the one thing that he is, underneath, a fucking person! I don't want that for my little sister! No way! You want to be a part of this family – here's your chance to start making a real effort!

"We can fight this if we want, Lyle. We can be stronger than they think – as a family! They think the ball's in their court now that Daddy's gone, but they're wrong, because we're still a family. We can still be that, if we _want_. And one other thing: we're special, too. We can do _anything_ we want."

Lyle sighed, rolling his eyes. Frankly, he was glad that was over. His sister, pep talks, nah! "How old is this… girl?"

"Two and a half."

"Young enough to forget, then," he concluded.

Miss Parker narrowed her eyes. "Oh, no, I'm not giving her away to some foster fucking family, Lyle! I can see with my own two eyes how well that worked out for you, thanks! No way in Hell, you hear me!"

"And how are we going to keep the Alabaman branch from just taking her back, when she's with us, huh, sis? They're not completely stupid; they'll know it's her."

"Not if they think she's your daughter."

He laughed, feigning amusement. "My daughter?"

"Yes, your daughter. We'll… we'll have her have facial reconstruction surgery so it'll be harder for them to connect her with the child they remember."

"No." He shook his head. "That shit's not safe."

"It's the only way!" Parker told him.

"The Hell it is, sis! You said we've got to be smart; smarter than them, at least. What we really need is a Healer. As you know, the services of a half decent Healer don't come cheap, but, luckily, we're not without means."

"And what's a Healer going to do?" Parker asked, annoyed at his dismissal of her suggestion. He wasn't getting how serious this thing would get if they managed to pull it off; it was like a joke to him!

"Enough," he replied simply. Then he turned and walked away.

She shook her head. He was delusional!

* * *

The little girl who appeared on Miss Parker's front porch with the woman Parker had at first assumed to be her mother, before getting a closer look and realising that, in fact, she was Emily, looked nothing like her, upon first inspection. If she'd been pale before, she was no longer, and her eyes, her eyes were different; one of them was brown! Even her facial structure, it seemed, had been subtly changed.

Parker felt a chill of apprehension and horror dawn over her; this little girl, this four-year-old child, was not her clone; her brother was having one over her.

She walked to the door quickly and pulled it open, glancing at the woman and child who'd, moments before, been conversing quietly, and now turned to regard her fully.

Emily smiled at her warmly enough and said, "I'm Enya. We haven't met before, I realise; I'm your brother's wife."

She'd obviously had her opening line rehearsed, Parker thought as she struggled to formulate some response.

"This is Rosie."

"Mommy!" the little girl protested, tearing her gaze away from Parker's face to look up at Emily.

Emily smiled at the little girl. "Rose."

Rosie looked back to Parker, satisfied, for the moment.

"My brother's never mentioned you before," Parker told them, having a hard time working this one out. Was this little girl her clone? And why had Emily claimed to be her brother's wife? Had he promised her something?

Though she tried, she couldn't think what he might have promised her that would make it worth her while, that would make up for all of the wrongs he'd committed against her and her loved ones.

She was startled from her thoughts at the sound of her brother's voice. "How's my little Rosie?" he asked, coming up the steps to meet the little girl who'd suddenly broken away from her 'mother'.

"Look who I found," Lyle said, offering Rosie the toy dog he was holding.

"Dean!" Rosie cried, seizing the toy and hugging it.

Emily sighed and grabbed for her cell phone which had started ringing to the tune of _Every Shade of Blue_ by Bananarama. "Enya Parker," she answered. She nodded, "Sure," and snapped her phone shut, turning to Rosie and Lyle. She reached for the little girl's hands. "Mommy has to go to work now, baby," she told her.

Rosie rolled her eyes to the top of her head then back again.

Emily hugged her quickly and headed down the steps, making her way toward the car Parker hadn't noticed before.

Rosie watched Emily get in the car and drive away, then frowned at her toy dog. "Can we go inside now, daddy?" she asked Lyle. "Dean's cold."

He nodded and glanced at Parker for her reply, taking Rosie's hand in his.

"Of course," Parker replied suddenly, as though – how silly – she'd been off somewhere in her thoughts before not to have already suggested it, "come inside."

Rosie smiled and hurried forward, tugging Lyle after her.

* * *

"What the Hell happened to her?" Parker demanded, when she'd settled Rosie onto the sofa in the lounge, in front of the television with a Disney DVD on.

"She was sick, very sick. Something must have gone wrong, but she wasn't... working the way she was supposed to. She's better now; nothing to worry about."

"She's better?" Miss Parker asked, an angry edge to her voice that said she didn't believe him. She took a step closer threateningly.

"Look, don't get too close, okay. I'm not feeling so well; I wouldn't want you to catch anything."

Parker narrowed her eyes darkly. In her opinion, 'not feeling so well' was an understatement, he looked awful. "And what about Rose, or _Enya_?" she challenged.

"Rosie's healthy enough to be able to fight an infection, if she caught one, and it's not as though her mother make sure she gets a proper, balanced diet. She has vitamins, too. She'll be alright, I reckon. I'm sure it's nothing, but I don't think the chairman would be pleased if you came down with something that would impede your ability to pursue Jarod. Enya thinks it's probably just a bit of the cold, anyway; she doesn't think it'll prove dangerous to her or Enya, they're well enough, she says."

"And you're willing to take her word for it?" Parker replied, incredulously.

"Yeah, it feels like the cold."

"You look fucking atrocious!"

"Nah, just a bit pale."

"Sick how?" Parker pressed on, putting aside the issue with Emily for later. At least, until after she'd been appraised of the situation with the little girl.

"Sick like sick. She couldn't even walk; her motor functions were all over the place. Her lungs weren't developed properly, so she was having some difficulty breathing, and her heart wasn't working so well."

"So why didn't Barb do anything?" Parker asked.

"Well, maybe she didn't want to, maybe she was wondering why Gemini had been so healthy when Amaranthine was failing tremendously on almost every level."

"The Centre's been able to successfully clone people for decades!" Parker told him.

"Have they?"

She shook her head, pissed off at his evasive responses. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Lyle!"

He looked about to say something when his cell phone rang. "Lyle," he said. He looked at his watch. "No, ah… Yeah, I'll pick her up now. Okay, I'll see you later."

"_Enya?_" Parker asked scathingly, almost spitting the fake name.

"I have to pick Dallas up from hockey," he replied, and walked to the kitchen door. "Rosie, I'm going to pick your sister up now, but you'll be alright here to stay with your Aunt Parker; I promise, she won't bite."

Rosie leapt to her feet. "No, daddy, I want to go with you!" she protested, already moving towards the door.

He sighed and glanced at Miss Parker, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "You don't mind?"

"Why would I mind?" she asked, trying her hardest not to snap at him.

"I thought Rosie and you could spend some time together, just the two of you, to get to know each other better, you know."

"Daddy, I want to come with you!" Rosie interrupted.

"I don't mind," Parker said, barely able to refrain from gritting her teeth.

He nodded and turned to pick the little girl up. "What do you think of the movie so far, Rosie?" he asked, walking into the lounge to pause the movie with the remote, then heading for the front door.

Rosie frowned and whispered something Parker could catch, though it looked like it had been a question because she seemed to pause, waiting for Lyle's answer.

"Dancing," he replied quietly.

"I want to dancing!" Rosie said enthusiastically.

"I want to dance," Lyle corrected, and put her down by the door. "You're getting big, darl."

"Big enough to dance?" Rosie asked hopefully.

He smiled. "I think so, Rosie, darlin'."

Rosie smiled, too.

* * *

Miss Parker put the coffee on as she was awaiting Lyle's return with Rosie and her sister, Dallas.

When she heard a car in the drive, she stood up and walked to the door. There, she was greeted by a fourteen-year-old, chatting away easily to Rosie. "Aunt Parker," the girl responded, "it's so cool to finally meet you. Anyway, I'm Dallas, in case you were kinda wondering if I was gonna suddenly spring out with a box of cookies or something from behind my back and reel off some Girl Guides prattle about raising money for, like, whatever."

"Hi," Parker replied.

"Awesome!" Dallas said.

Parker had a sneaking suspicion that the girl was another clone, but, unlike Rosie, she wasn't a clone of her, instead, she was Emily's clone.

"Where's mom?" Dallas asked suddenly, turning to Lyle.

"At work," he simply said.

Dallas rolled her eyes and reached for her little sister, grabbing her and tickling her so that she began to laugh and attempted to break free and run away. "Someone told me you want to learn to dance, Rose. Is that true?"

Rosie nodded, giggling. "Yes!"

"Well, guess what, bubs; your big sister just happens to know how to dance; how cool is that? And! And… she'd be super happy to teach you a couple of the moves." She stopped tickling the little girl and sighed. "But, like, totally after I've had something to drink; I'm parched."

"Didn't you take your water bottle with you?" Lyle asked.

She looked at Rosie, Rosie looked at Lyle. "Er, yeah," Dallas replied, "but, like- I didn't start it!"

Lyle sighed. "Just don't think you're having coffee, young lady," he told her.

Her face fell in outrage. "What? Why not? Anyway," she whipped around to face Parker, "it's Aunt Parker's house, so it's her rules. If she says I can have coffee, then I can!"

"That's not how it works, Dallas," Lyle told her.

"Well, it should be!" she huffed. "I'm four_teen_, dad! I'm not a _baby_! The other parents let their kids have coffee!"

"It's not just up to me or you, Dal, it's your mom's decision, too."

"Mom would so let me have coffee," Dallas protested. "She so did the other day! She's a _cool_ mom, dad!"

"Well, then you can just wait 'til mom gets back, then, can't you," he said, sighing and glancing at Rosie.

Rosie walked over and took his hand. "You should sit down, daddy, you look funny."

"Totally, dad," Dallas agreed. "Like, not to sound totally heartless or anything, but I'm not picking you up off the porch if you pass out."

"Are you going to finish watching the movie, Rose?" Parker interrupted, walking back into the house.

Rosie nodded quickly, letting go of Lyle's hand and rushing inside; Dallas followed her to the lounge. "So, whatcha watching, Rose?" she asked her little sister.

Rosie shrugged and handed her the DVD case.

"I've so seen this," Dallas replied. "It's fairly cool." She laughed. "And it has dancing!" She turned to the lounge room door and called out loudly, "I'll have cordial, if you have it, thank you, Aunt Parker."

Parker walked to the door and stopped for a moment. "I do have; I've got red and green, which would you prefer?"

"Red," Dallas replied.

"Green!" Rosie cried.

"But, girls, you'll have to come into the kitchen to drink your cordial drinks, okay."

"Okay!" they chorused.

She nodded and turned away, walking into the kitchen to make those cordials.

So that was how Lyle had convinced Emily to pretend she was his wife, she thought, wondering where he'd found the girl.

"She's not a Centre project," he said, as though he'd read the look on her face. "She's from one of our smaller rivals."

"Yeah?" Parker said, fixing him with a suspicious gaze. "And how'd you find out about her?"

"I didn't; En did. I guess things must have been okay with her for a couple of years, before they started to go downhill."

Dallas appeared in the doorway. "Cloning's not an exact science, yet," she added. "I was fine, then I just wasn't. Like, I was going to school and all, like a normal teenager, then I got sick and they put me in a coma and found me a cosy, little home in that freezer. I don't know if they ever planned on… fixing what was wrong with me, or if they even knew what that was, or anything, but I'm not cut up about leaving. It's not like I didn't know I wasn't a person to them." She shrugged. "So, like, do you need any help with the cordial, Aunt Parker?"

Parker shook her head. "No, thanks, Dallas."

The teenager nodded and left the room.

"There's coffee if you'd like something," Parker told her brother, nodding across the table to the coffee.

"I think I'll just have a glass of water," he said.

"Suit yourself," she replied, wondering how all of this was going to go when Emily got back from 'work'.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're _where_?" the man on the other end of the connection asked, though it came out more like something between a demand and shock.

"There's no need for you to be getting so worked up about it, Linton," Emily said. "I won't be staying long."

"Have you got... what you wanted?"

Emily frowned. Well, of course she had, hadn't she! "Yes."

"I'll be expecting you soon, then."

"Well..."

"Well what, Emily?"

She sighed. "There's... There's something else, Linton. A little girl."

"Another?"

"No. She's not mine, she's someone else's."

"Whose?"

"Miss Parker's."

"They... they... Her! They cloned her! Why?"

"I don't know why. Because she's a Pretender, probably."

"And why is this stopping you from leaving?"

"Because... Linton, I'm sorry! You know I couldn't have gotten her out myself; I needed the help! And she's okay, now! She really is! She can be... a person again, not just someone's toy!"

"Miss Parker helped you? I find that... highly unlikely!"

"No, it wasn't her," Emily said in a subdued voice.

"Cox?" Linton sounded as though he might burst into laughter any second.

"No."

"For goodness sakes, who then, Em?"

"Lyle," she replied, trying for her best calm voice.

To her relief, Linton didn't get upset about it. Instead, he just said, "What does he want?" in a tired kind of voice; which was fair enough, she thought, they were both sick and tired of the lunatic.

"He's wants me to play like I'm the kid's mother; which means I have pretend to be his wife. I'm just wondering if I have to pretend to be as loopy as he is, too."

"You're _my_ wife, Em!"

"For God sakes, Linton, you think I don't know that! Do you honestly think I want to spend even one second in his company? You've got to be out of your mind if that's what you think! But if I'm going to leave I have to make it look like we had some sort of falling out and left the little girl with him."

"Oh, wonderful! Fucking wonderful, Em! So this could take years?"

"No, Linton, it's not going to take years!" she shot back angrily.

"Oh, so you think court cases just take a few days, a few weeks, at most-"

"No, I don't, but we're not having a court case! I'm taking my... my older daughter and leaving!"

"And it's going to look okay that you leave the little girl with him?"

"I don't care what it looks like, Linton! People will understand, he's a fucking lunatic! He _killed_ his last wife!"

"People don't know he's a lunatic, Em; in fact, most of them think he's a wonderful fucking person. And the people who do know what he's really like aren't going to take a forgiving stance on the mother who leaves her two-year-old child with _that_!"

"I don't care! Let them think what they want."

"What about the girl? Did you think about her, Emily? What is she going to make of all this; how is she going to take living with that crazy?"

"I don't know, Linton," she sighed, at last. "I just hope Miss Parker steps in. What am I supposed to do, Linton? She's Miss Parker's clone; I can't just up and leave with _her_, too?"

"Look, Em," he replied heavily, "I just want you safe and in one piece, and... and the girl, too. Just come back, okay. You're probably right, as it is, what can you do about the little girl? There's nothing _we_ can do, you're right. Just come back. I love you, I'll see you when you get in."

"I love you, too." She sighed, and pressed the button to end the call, taking off her wireless headset and placing it beside her on the car seat. She was going to have a Hell of a wonderful month, that was all she could think about it!

* * *

Finola Crowley glanced up at her father who'd just come into the lounge room of their expensive highrise apartment, noticing that he looked troubled about something, and wondered if it was work or something else. Fiercely hoping that it was the latter, she asked, "Is mommy alright, daddy?"

"Mommy's just fine, sweetheart," he told her.

"Is she coming home soon?" the seven-year-old pressed. "I miss her!"

"I miss her, too, Nola. I'm sure she will be, baby."

Finola frowned, and returned to her drawing. "Okay, daddy," was all she said.

He sighed. "Nola, I have to go to work now, okay, baby, so the babysitter's coming 'round to look after you, yeah."

"Yes, daddy," she said, not sounding very happy about the prospect.

"Don't you like Cheyenne, baby?"

"Yeah, but... I like mommy better," Finola confided. She put down the pencil she'd been drawing with and stood up, walking over to her dad to give him a hug. "Have a good day at work, daddy. And make sure you get chicken for dinner, dad, you know I _love_ chicken!"

"Okay, I will," he said. "Do you want me to make you something nice whilst we're waiting for Cheyenne to arrive?" he asked, on a brighter note.

She beamed. "A banana and strawberry smoothie, daddy!"

"A banana/strawberry smoothie it is!"

* * *

After leaving his daughter at home with the babysitter, Linton walked to his car, a late model BMW that hadn't come cheap, and got inside. Instead of starting the car, though, he just sat thinking for a few long moments, then he reached over to the passenger's side front seat where he'd deposited of his briefcase and clicked it open, retrieving his company ID and clipping it to the front of his suit jacket.

At work, he nodded to the receptionist, who smiled and greeted him with a warm and amicable, "Good morning, Mr. White."

"Good morning, Tyra," he replied back, before heading for the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

"I know what you did," Rose said quietly. She was supposed to be sleeping, but she'd woken up when Lyle had come in to check that she was. Dallas didn't seem to have woken, though. Rose supposed it was a good thing, the sleep would be good for her; she'd heard that she'd been sick, too. _So much for cloning_, she thought darkly.

"Rosie? You're up."

Rose pulled a face, just for a moment. "I'm not up; I was sleeping, but then you came in and I woke up. You're my brother – der!"

He smiled. "I'm not your brother, honey."

"Yes you are," she said plainly. "I know you are. Jacob said you are. Do you want to argue with a dead person?"

"Jacob said I am, sweetie? And how would Jacob know?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Then maybe you shouldn't believe everything he says, yeah?"

She sat up, annoyed. He sounded tired, and she wanted to tell him to get lost and go get some sleep, but she had one thing to say first. "If you're Miss Parker's brother, then you're my brother, too! And that's all there is to it!"

"Who says I'm her brother?" he asked, finally.

"You do. And other people do and you don't say to them that you're not."

"Because... Maybe she doesn't have a brother anymore, and it would hurt her to know that. A twin brother... She... You know what I mean, Rosie."

"No I don't," Rose protested. "You mean her real twin brother is dead, but why is he dead and why don't you want her to know the truth?"

"I don't want her to know the truth because it would hurt her, and because then, if she found out, I wouldn't have a sister anymore, would I? But... It's not just me, darl, the company don't want her to know, either, and I don't want you going and telling her what we've talked about. A very sad thing happened to her brother which she isn't allowed to know and that's the way it's going to be. If she found out, she would be mad, and then the company would use it as an excuse to take her away and hurt her. I don't want to be the one to give them that excuse. Do you?"

Rose slowly shook her head. She didn't want someone to hurt her older sister. "No," she said quietly.

"Well then. Why don't you go to sleep, now, huh?"

"I will if you will."

"Rosie."

"Just because you're an adult-" she started.

"It's not just because I'm an adult; I also have a lot to talk to Enya about."

"Enya doesn't want to talk to you," Rosie told him, sort of sing-songy, but more tired, or bored of saying it so much, "she hates you."

"Well, she can hate me as much as she likes; we need to talk."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, brother," she said, and lay back down, closing her eyes. _Adults!_

When he had left, she frowned, realising that she hadn't even got to say what she'd be meaning to say. She stifled a growl of annoyance and decided that it would just have to wait for another day.

* * *

"Well, I don't want to talk right now," Emily told him. "I told you; I'd help you if you helped me, which you've done, so now I just want to be left alone in some semblance of peace. I'll talk in the morning, not now. I'm tired, and you look like you are, too. Just go and do whatever, and leave me alone."

"Emily-"

She threw him a glare. "Don't call me that name!" she warned. "Don't _you_ call me that name!"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Fine, I won't call you... that name. You... you... I assume you'll want to take the girl and leave as soon as possible."

Emily mock smiled. "My, you're a mind reader now!" she mocked.

Ignoring that, he said, "Yeah, well, if that's what you want to do, I don't care, go ahead and do whatever you want to do."

She stared at him in anger. "What the Hell else did you _think_ I would want to do, you... you idiot!"

"Nope, nothing. I just wanted to be sure. Rosie says Night." With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her alone.

She refrained from turfing something at the door after him, just to make the point that she'd rather see him dead than spend a minute in his company. It was fair enough; he'd tried to kill her once and it was through no fault of his own that he hadn't succeeded in just that, she thought scathingly, and sighed.

She looked around the room she'd been told could be hers, and wondered how much exactly he got paid for terrorising people and making their lives Hell so that he could afford a house like this one. It was a nice house, she wasn't denying that, but she didn't like the thought of the things he'd done to earn enough money to buy it.

Well, when she and Dallas left, it would be a very big, very empty house, she thought with some satisfaction, and then felt a stab of annoyance at the fact that he'd probably play the heartbroken husband whose wife had left him and taken their older daughter with her. Unfortunately, not everyone knew what he was really like and would probably feel really bad for him, she thought darkly. She only hoped Rose fared okay through it all. Hopefully, she thought, he'd be decent enough to give Rose to Miss Parker, though it didn't sound likely. He just didn't have a single decent bone in his body, in her opinion, and she was sure it was an opinion his sister also shared, poor woman.

Closing the front cover and setting down the book she'd been reading on the night stand, Emily sighed and wondered where he'd gotten the money and connections to have a Healer look at the two girls. It was a legitimate worry, especially seeing as he'd probably now think she owed him one for that, too. Well, if he started on like that, she'd just have to be sure and tell him where she though he could go with that, alright.

And she would be sure and tell him, she promised herself!

* * *

"I'm only repeating what you know already, Jan," Sue told him, from her spot leaning against the kitchen counter. "You know you're not like them and you can't do the things they can."

"I can do whatever I feel like, Sue, so don't give me that rubbish."

"No you can't!"

"If I wasn't meant to, then I wouldn't have been able to, plain and simple."

She glared at him, then settled for glaring at the kitchen table. "Just in case you're having trouble reading the look on my face," she told him angrily, "I think you're an idiot."

"If I am, I am. Nothin' you can do about it, hon."

"And what about this Enya woman? What's going to happen with her?"

"She'll be going soon, I imagine."

"Going?"

"Yes, going. Like, walking out the door and never coming back. Who cares? She's nothing important. The company wouldn't know what to do with her. They'd get sick of her insufferable claptrap in no time at all. And she has no more idea where her brother is right now than I do, Sue. She's... If he wants to see her, he's the one contacting her, not the other way around. And, let's face it, if he knew she was... If he knew she'd married White, I'm sure he'd have a few words to say about that that would more than likely end in Goodbye."

"Who's White?" Sue asked, now.

"I don't know. A nuisance."

"Hmm... What if he finds out about this deal you have going with his wife?"

"We don't have a deal, Sue, going or otherwise. She's going, then she'll be gone from my life and I'll be gone from hers; end of story."

"And what if the girl gets sick again?" Sue asked.

"She won't get sick again," he told her flatly.

"And you know that for sure?" Sue pressed.

"Yes, alright, so... Just stop with all the questions, okay, my... I have a headache, and... Talking is not helping."

She shrugged. "Oh well, go get yourself a glass of water, then, it can't make it worse. I shouldn't think, in any case."

"I don't want water," he replied, annoyed.

"Then take an aspirin or something," she said.

"I think I'll pass. I have a headache for a reason, Sue, and taking painkillers isn't going to help me find out what that reason is any more clearly than I already know, nor is it going to make it go away."

"Do you know why you have a headache?" she asked, though she knew damn well that he did.

"Yeah, Sue, I do, and you know it, too!"

"Then don't do it! You're not meant to, didn't I just say, but you shut me down. Doesn't this just prove it?"

"It doesn't prove anything, Sue!"

"Well, if you want to kill yourself," she replied nonchalantly.

He shook his head angrily, and walked out.

Sue stepped away from the counter and straightened up, waving. Someone thought they were all that, just because they'd been born with some stupid anomaly. She stopped herself from gritting her teeth in distaste. She detested that stupid anomaly! It made people stupid when they thought they were so clever, and it made them do stupid, risky things.

_It's no wonder Enya wants to leave_, she thought.

* * *

Emily took out her cell phone to ring her husband and daughter and say Goodnight and that she'd be home soon, just a few more days now. She missed Linton and Finola a lot and she couldn't wait to go home and be with them, and she was sure that Finola would be thrilled to have an older sister, too.

The only good thing to come of this, she thought, was that she'd finally be able to have a proper family, and no one would be hurting them anymore. At least, it was one stepping stone in that mission.

She suppressed a smile at the thought that very soon Lyle and his beloved company would have a lot more to worry about than her brother's whereabouts. Her husband would make very certain of that.

At least the room hadn't been bugged. She'd scanned it for listening devices and found nothing, though she'd expected something, at least, so it was somewhat of a let down. To her mind, it was only another of his attempts to pretend he was really a decent person. Yeah, ha, like she could ever be led to believe that!

The phone she was holding by her ear started to ring and a few rings later she heard it pick up. "Hello, darling," she began. "How was your day?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Ug, lame.**

* * *

"There's a problem, of course," Emily said, appearing in the doorway. "Problem number one: Rose is two and a half, you say, but she looks much older. Problem number two: Rose is your sister's clone, you say, but she doesn't look that way to me."

"Because she was Healed, that's why," Lyle replied, frowning at her in annoyance. One minute, she wants him gone, the next, it's twenty questions!

"So that answers it for you – no more questions?" she asked, sceptical of how serious he was taking this.

"Why must you make everything into something out of one of your stupid newspapers?"

"Excuse me!" she shot. Why was he suddenly attacking her – and her 'stupid' newspapers, which were not hers but which she had _worked_ for – when she hadn't been attacking him! She'd only been pointing out his apparent lack of interest on the subject, not having a go at him for it. She supposed he'd rattle off something about her tone that had offended him!

"Forget it," he replied darkly. "Why are you bringing up all of this now? So, suddenly, I'm not allowed to say, 'Hey, maybe we should have a sit down and talk about things,' but _you_ are!" He laughed. "Talk about double standards!"

She shot him a scowl and narrowed her eyes at the box of chocolates he was eating, wondering if he'd gotten them for one of his 'girlfriends' only to be knocked back on the offer. Secretly, she found the thought very amusing. "Why are you eating chocolates?" she asked, curious now.

"Go away," he merely said. "That is none of your business."

"Yes it is!" she countered. "I'm supposed to be your wife. Shouldn't they be for me?"

"But you're not," he said, putting on a smile rather than yelling at, which she imagined he felt much more like doing at that point; pity the kids were around, she might have been able to have a laugh at that. "Now, if you'd kindly leave..."

She scrunched up her nose. "Kindly? No, I don't think so." She stepped into the room, pushing the door ajar after her. "I want to know what's going to happen to Rose once I leave."

"I honestly don't know," he replied. Not all that honestly, she thought. He smiled suddenly and, with that, decided that he'd had enough talking to her and would much rather just pretend she wasn't there, for, a moment later, he lay back on the bed – chocolates forgotten – and randomly began humming _Chain of Fools_.

_Crazy people_, Emily thought. "I'm still here, you know," she butt in. "I haven't beamed off to the planet Annoying People I Wish Could Just Get Lost."

He sat up quickly, then smiled. "_Hola! Una chica guapa!_"

"What did you just say to me?" Emily asked, unimpressed.

Seemingly to himself, he said, "Ha! No. Chill out, B. This _chica_ would sooner _erradicar_ you! And all with a twinkle in her eye and a wave of her magic, sparkly wand, if she had one! She's a _nice_ girl!" He tried for a little seriousness. "Your type of girl, Bobby, I kid you not."

Addressing her now, he replied, "My apologies, my kid brother... he has a little weakness for 'pretty girls.' He means nothing by it, I assure you... _I'm added to your chain-chain-chain. Chain of fools..._"

Emily walked over to the end of the bed and leant over swiftly to pick up the chocolates. He wasn't having any more, she decided.

He started to smile at her, then, all of a sudden, he went mysteriously quiet. "Your husband wants to hurt us, and you are helping him?" he said, out of nowhere.

She pulled a face. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You must be drunk."

"Do I sound drunk?" he asked. "You _are_ trying to hurt us!"

She shook her head, thinking, now, that it had been a bad idea to think she could talk to him at all.

"Whatever makes you happy, I say," he replied, waving a finger about near the side of his head. "They say I'm _que no tiene sano_, no? Insane! Then, they say that the end of the world is coming, too." Getting to his feet, he made a grab for the chocolates, but she stepped back, out of his reach.

"I think you've had enough," she told him in a no nonsense voice.

"I'm not going to eat them, _voy a estar enfermo_. I'll be sick. I thought I might put them away. That is, if you didn't want any?"

"No, I'm quite right," she replied coldly. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Bobby. But if you please, you can call me Roberto."

"I don't please," she assured him. "At all."

He shrugged. "It's always worth a try. No? _Nunca se puede estar seguro_."

"Why are you speaking Spanish?"

"_¿Por qué no?_"

"I'd appreciate if you spoke just English, thank you. It is your native language, isn't it?"

"Who knows?" he replied, and began to hum _Chain of Fools_ again.

"I'd appreciate, also, if I could speak to your 'brother.'"

"_No se puede._ He just left, I'm sorry, _señora_."

Emily pointed a finger at him. "That's right, _niño pequeño_, I am married! So you had better back _off_!"

He smiled. "_Si ese es tu deseo, mi señora!_"

She shook her head, infuriated, and pushed the box of chocolates back at him. Crossing her arms, she turned swiftly and grabbed the door to yank it open, storming out of the room. She was not dealing with him when he couldn't even be serious; she wasn't buying into any more of his games – not a single one!

Fuming, she ignored him when he called out after her, "Good night, _Enya_!"

* * *

When she'd left his brother's room, Bobby began looking around for his brother's recorder. He needed to leave his brother a message: the woman and her husband were planning something and it felt... dangerous.

He looked in the drawers on the night stand, he even looked under the bed, but there was nothing. Straightening up, he snatched up the box of chocolates and decided to return them to the refrigerator in the kitchen, where his brother would have to look for them before deciding he wanted to eat them. Besides, they would be disgusting if they melted. For some reason, the heating was set fairly high. He supposed it was because his brother had felt cold.

Shaking his head, he reminded himself that Lyle wasn't his 'older brother.' That was just how Lyle liked to look at it, to say they were separate and it wasn't he who had had such horrible things done to him. They were the same person, Bobby knew that, but how could he help his 'brother' to understand that without hurting him further; he didn't seem to need any help in that department, after all.

In the kitchen, he dropped the chocolates in the fridge, on one of the shelves, and shut the door. He was about to check the kitchen drawers for the recorder when he decided to check the lounge room, instead.

It was sitting on one of the shelves in a bookshelf, right in front of the romance novels in Afrikaans. Checking that there was still some way to go on the tape, he switched out the lounge room light and walked back the way he had come, to the bedroom, thinking about the message he was going to leave.

He stopped in the hallway and went back to get a glass of water, humming Leona Lewis's _Naked_. Cleary liked the singer, he'd heard somewhere, and, right at that point, it seemed like as good a song as any to hum. He needed to practise up on the modern songs, or else, he reminded himself, he wouldn't be convincing anyone of anything. A month ago, he'd spent five hours on the weekend listening to a couple of the CDs in Lyle's CD collection, trying to memorise as many of the songs as he could, then he'd decided he might as well give his brother a hand with the furniture and stuff in the new house and had forgotten all about the music. He'd been worried about the wiring in the walls, and had tried to think of some solution, but then his brother had come back and that had put an end to his plans.

Lyle had put away all of his drawings, the pencils and paper, the CDs, and finished up with the furniture. Thank goodness someone had, he thought, now, reaching for a glass in one of the cupboards above the counter when a really great idea occurred to him and he smiled, almost forgetting about the glass and the water altogether.

Now that they had a reason to – it was a good reason, a plausible reason, he thought – they'd be able to invite their sister around for dinner and they could- he put a hand over his mouth, very excited- he'd be able to talk to her.

Turning away from the cupboard, he closed the cupboard door and glanced around the kitchen, then he crossed to the sink to pour himself some water from the tap. Before he left, he put a jug out in the middle of the table, in case someone else got thirsty, with a couple of glasses.

He couldn't wait to invite Miss Parker around, then he remembered the important thing he had to tell Lyle, and his mood kinda deflated.

A woman was hanging around in the hallway spookily when he stepped out of the kitchen and he asked her, in what he assumed was her native language, "It's very dark in here; you might put a light on, no one would be angry at you. Why are you up? Don't you have a room to sleep in? Are you thirsty, too?"

She made a really strange face at him and replied, "I thought you said you were beat, Jan. Why are you up?"

"Who's Jan?" he asked, trying not to let the woman hear the panic in his voice. Who the heck was _Jan_?

"You are," she said, really frowning now.

He shook his head.

She waved a hand at him. "Hmmm. I'll come back later, then. When you are." And, with that, she walked off.

He followed her around a corner but she was no longer anywhere to be seen. "Miss?" he asked quietly. "Are you there, miss?"

No reply came back.

Trying not to look too sooky, he decided he'd just have to ask Lyle about this Jan person. He'd never heard of him before, and he didn't like the sounds of him, either. He had a feeling that the woman he'd assumed the babysitter or housekeeper was really dead.

He didn't want there to be a dead woman in his house!

Refraining from any childish behaviour such as screaming or jumping up and down, he left for his room. His brother needed to rest, he wasn't very well at all.

On his way there, he stopped at one of the doors which looked to lead to a bedroom, and noticed that it was a bedroom and that, also, it was a child's bedroom. He smiled suddenly, wondering if they were Lyle's children. He'd always wanted children and now he was totally excited; it would be like having a new sibling, he thought. There would be so much to teach them, and hugs – there would be lots and lots of hugs.

But they weren't Lyle's children, they were... He frowned, figuring it out eventually. They were clones. He wasn't smiling at all anymore, he felt hurt for them. What sort of person had thought cloning was a good idea, well, he thought vehemently, they'd been wrong!

He walked up to the children, to make sure they were having good dreams and that they were warm enough – even though the central heating was working – before leaving again.

Leaving the door ajar after him, he scratched his wrist absently and walked off, back to the kitchen, deciding that he felt much more like making cupcakes than sleeping now. His aunt wouldn't be there, but it didn't matter; he could remember her with good thoughts and think about something other than cloning.

One of the children was his little sister, his twin sister's clone, he realised, he would have to make sure she grew up happy, he would have to make sure she was a happy child, and that no one hurt her like they'd hurt his sister.

Her name was Amaranthine, Amaranth- No, Rose. Her name was Rose, now. She'd chosen it herself. Nobody except Lyle was allowed to call her Rosie. Rose, he thought, Rosalita, little rose.

The woman, Jarod and Kyle's sister, had said, to Lyle, that there was something wrong with her, that she was too old, he recalled. It had happened when she'd been Healed, he decided. She wasn't too old, she was just how old she was. She was perfectly how she was meant to be, and she wasn't sick; most of all, she was well, for once in her life. She could walk, she could breathe, she could smile. She didn't need machines to help her. She could think clearly, she could think whatever she wanted.

_Little sister_, he thought, _you are going to be happy._

The other child, a teenager already, was the woman's clone. She would be leaving soon, along with the woman. Enya, she had called herself when she'd introduced herself to his sister earlier in the day – yesterday – though they'd both known that this was not, in fact, her real name. Her real name was Emily.

He sat down at the kitchen table and tried to reach out to his sister, just to feel her, not to interrupt her, and found that she was engaged in a telephone conversation – it was really that late! - and would soon be sleeping, as soon as her night-time caller had called off.

Jarod, he realised; Jarod was okay, outside. He frowned... and blinked. Angelo was still at the Centre, but where was Kyle?

The oven, which he'd all but forgotten he'd put on to preheat, clicked off with a little jangle; the timer had finished, and he realised that Kyle was dead.

_Because of us_, he thought, standing up quickly and feeling suddenly angry at himself, at his 'brother.' _What an idiot!_ he felt like shouting. _You idiot! You idiot! We were supposed to look after one another, we were supposed to look out for one another – not kill each other! I leave you in charge and this is what you do! You hurt people – you _kill_ people! You really _are_ insane!_

For one scary moment, he wondered if, indeed, Lyle was apart of them, but then he pushed the thought away: of course he was, and this was what they were truly, really like! Underneath, they were nothing special! They were as horrible as the horrible rest! Willing to hurt their brothers and sisters, their children, for their own benefit, however small or great!

He sat down on the floor and put his hands over his ears, pushing down the urge to scream, really trying not to scream or rock or anything else. And then... He was gone.

Lyle had come back.

Lyle didn't say anything, but switched off the kitchen light and went to bed. Bobby had left the recorder on top of the fridge, but he'd never gotten around to composing his message, so when Lyle finally found it he'd see that it was as it had been before and put it away on the shelf and be done with it.

* * *

In the morning, he was woken by Sue, shaking on his arm. Of course, she wanted him to get up and switch on the television for her; every week, she always watched the same thing at the same time, and if she didn't get to watch it she'd get cranky, so he got up to switch it on for her, suppressing an annoyed glance and a _Jeez_.

"By the way," she told him, her eyes glued to the screen, "some kid was here yesterday."

"What kid?" he asked, annoyed enough now to let it show in his voice. Sure, he'd just let some kid wander into his house, yeah!

"Well, dang me, Jan, but I'm just not Allison Dubois, you know!"

He rolled his eyes. "Why did this kid come to see... Who did he come to see, for starters?"

"No one, I guess, he was acting, like, strange. Okay, you're not seeing the picture, I'm sensing. Like, Jan, my honest to goodness feeling is that you got yourself possessed by some dang _freaky_ kid, cool. For starters, he was like, 'Who's Jan?' Like, dah, kiddo! Where have you been living, under a rock or something?"

"And?"

"And nothing. I left. He was just shaking his head, so I decided I wasn't gonna stick around, the kid was probably having some kind of... crisis!" She snorted, finding the comment hysterical.

He made a note not to watch _TopGear_ in front of her again, it was obviously bad for her. "It was probably Bobby," he said, and walked off to leave her alone with her music videos and check out his CDs to see if none of them had gone missing or been 'hidden' or anything.

* * *

When Emily walked into the lounge and saw that the television was on but no one was watching it, she frowned and had a look around to room to see who _might_ have been watching it a few moments ago, but there was no one. Thinking that that was weird, she headed for the kitchen where she found Lyle shaking his head at the electric kettle.

"That's not what I wanted you to do," he was saying to it, as though it might be able to understand him somehow, "you know what I wanted you to do. Why can't you just do like your packet says your supposed to?"

"Why is the TV on when, _clearly_, no one is watching it?" she interrupted.

"It's to wake the kids up," he said, not looking at her, and frowned at the kettle again. "Behave yourself this time, we have guests."

"Excuse me?" Emily asked.

He turned around and frowned at her, too. "Would you like a coffee, seeing as I'm making one for myself, anyway?" he asked, trying to go light on the glaring.

"A coffee would be lovely, thank you," she said, just to show him that she could be nice, and forgiving.

He shook his head, then turned back to her with a new frown. "I suppose you slept alright?"

"I slept fine," she said.

"The neighbours, or someone, wasn't up at all hours, doing something?"

"Doing what?" she asked. Then added, "No. I don't think so."

"Vacuum cleaning?"

"Vacuuming?"

"I dunno. Yeah. Vacuum cleaning?"

She shook her head. "No. Nobody was 'vacuum cleaning' in the middle of the night."

"Well, that's good to know."

She widened her eyes illustratively; _Ah, kinda - What the Hell! - weirded out over here!_ "Yeah." With a suspicious narrowing of her eyes, she wandered back into the lounge to sit down on the sofa and watch some music videos. Maybe it was something to do with 'Bobby' which she thoroughly didn't want to know; maybe he thought she'd dob him in and confirm his happy, joyous suspicions that she'd fallen for that trick hook, line and sinker. Well, no, she hadn't, but she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted him to think. Maybe she should add that she didn't appreciate his kid brother dropping in _at all hours_ to flirt with her!

Or accuse her of things that weren't true!

She frowned, not really paying attention to the TV. But if she did that, she guessed, she'd just have him on her back again about the same things, the same old accusations that he'd flung at her last night, which she didn't really want.

In any case, she told herself, she was only doing to right thing and not telling on his 'little brother' the instant the chance arose like a really _uncool, older person_!

* * *

Sue leapt up and headed for the kitchen, at the first ad break. "So, when is she leaving? Do you think I like some creepy living chick sitting next to be on the sofa with her..." She shivered in overly dramatic fashion. "Gerrr vibes!"

Lyle shook his head. "I don't know when she's leaving, Sue," he told her in a low voice. "I guess she'll be leaving when she's leaving..."

Sue moaned. "Please! I can't take it!"

"Did I ask you too? And what can't you take?"

"Shit, it's back on!" Sue replied, and fled.

He frowned and returned to trying to make some sense of the directions on the side of the packet of frozen cheesecake. There was hardly anything in the fridge and Rose liked cheesecake, which was why _it_ was in the fridge, so he'd make that for breakfast for her before going shopping.

* * *

"What's with the cheesecake?" Sue asked, the massive smile wiping off her face at the site of it. "Like, in a packet. Frozen?" She blinked in confusion.

"It's for the kids' breakfast."

"Cake? I further – _cheese_cake?"

"I dunno, I guess."

"We have a winner! You are one smart cookie, Jan! I think..." an exaggerated pause for emphasis, "I'm in _lurve_!" She cackled. "Why don't you just make them something normal for breakfast, like what normal people regularly have for breakfast?"

"Which is what?"

"I'm dead, why are you asking me?" She nodded. "Oh, and, um, just so you know... Shut up, Sue!"

"Just so I know what?" he questioned, casting the oven a suspicious glance.

"The water in the kettle's finished boiling!" She frowned. "And the coffee's somehow gotten out of its packet and put itself in the plunger. So... deep!"

He nodded, unimpressed. "Oh yeah, Sue."

"Well..." She lifted her hand up and opened and closed it in a wave. "I have to go watch my show!"

"Uuumm-hmm."

* * *

Sue turned and made a face at Emily, annoyed with the tiny, dinky, dainty woman. She was so.. small and cute, and small and cute didn't always concur with nice thoughts in Sue's mind, especially where married women were included.

Reagan needed a mother, damn it! Why couldn't the little, gorgeous woman be free! She'd have been a fantastic mother for Reagan, Sue decided, and she so wanted to see some real life pashing action happening – in the next two seconds, preferably!

She quelled the urge to say anything damning and returned her attention to the television screen. There just wasn't enough love in the world anymore, she thought, hating whoever that guy was who was Emily's husband, though she didn't even know him; she just plain didn't like him and didn't want to know him. Why wasn't _he_ around? Why was he letting his wife stay at some other guy's house and not rushing to the rescue and acting all control-freaky which would really freak her out if it wasn't so damned cute because... damn it, she just wanted to see some people acting like they were in love and not like they hated each other's guts! Then they could hug and make up and talk quietly and he could say that he hadn't really believed that she could ever cheat on him, and he hadn't come to see her because he'd been scared that without her he might be tempted to find some other lady with a warm look in her eye, and she could have said that, Uh-hum, well, no, exactly the same thing went for her because they were married, thank you, and married couples never, _never_ cheated on one another, did they? And then they could fight – wait, go back to that part about being tempted to look around when I'm not there; shouldn't the loneliness be killing you, as in, incapable of rational thought, of even _breathing_!

Cough, cough! Now, Nelly, just- just take it easy over there– and then they could make up, and Sue would finally get to see some real life kissing.

And that would never happen, she told herself. Anyway, it would be rude to start a fight about your marriage in a complete stranger's house. Probably, anyway.

She sunk further in her seat, telling herself that she didn't now want it to happen so she could ascertain for sure whether or not it really _was_ rude.

* * *

Sue slinked into the kitchen, trying not to look like she was really slinking, and walked up behind Lyle to put a hand on his back. "I don't think it's burning," she told him encouragingly, and, though he was watching it, he got down to check as though it might due just that because, let's face it, even the kettle didn't like him and might have talked it around to its way of thinking; they could be best buds, for all he knew!

Damn it, Sue thought secretly, hoping that she'd been able to impress some of the _You really want to make up for this killing her brother thing, you do, and she does, too, because hate is just bad, just bad_ vibes on him and failing, failing, failing.

She resisted the urge to rip on her hair and shriek at the top of her lungs, "There's something wrong with me! Who cares about the stupid, freakin' cake! Just kiss already! Before I kill someone! After I've possessed someone! Damn it! Or... or _worse_! I could do something worse! And you know who would be the one taking the fall for that, Empath person! Oh, yeah – you! Mwuh-huh-ha!"

Freakily, Lyle turned to look at her with a _I know know you're thinking and it freaks me out!_ frown, and said, "Sue, your show's on."

She stared at him dumbly.

"Your... The show's back on, Sue."

"The show," she repeated darkly, annoyed that it wasn't the show she really wanted to watch, and shot him a scowl. "Watch that cake," she said, before stomping out.

He looked at the oven as though, any second, it might impart some deep and meaningful knowledge on the topic of dead twenty-something women, but it had nothing.

He sighed. "You and me both," he muttered. He had nothing either, surprisingly.

* * *

Rose stood in the doorway, eyes very, very wide. "Are you making a cake?" she squawked, when he turned and saw her standing there.

"Heating up a cake, yes," he replied, and she left the doorway and ran over to hug him.

"Cake, yay!"

"Rose...?"

She pointed at the coffee plunger.

"Right, um, yes, thank you."

"I'll watch that the cake doesn't burn," she offered, to which he nodded, vaguely heading in the direction of the coffee before turning to lift her up and sit her down on a chair he'd taken from the kitchen table.

"What kind of cake is it?" she asked, finally, when he'd come back from the lounge.

"Cheesecake."

"With mango?"

"Yes."

"Dallas saw it in the freezer yesterday and suggested we take it for midnight snack but I told her I didn't think it would be a good idea."

"Well, no, because then you'd have been eating a frozen cake instead of a heated-up cake, wouldn't... wouldn't you have been?"

Rose nodded. "Exactly right," she agreed. "Except, Dallas did say she has special powers. She said she had laser beams in her eyes that she could have used to heat it up in a snap. Only, I didn't believe her."

"Well, I wouldn't have either," he agreed, noticing the recorder on the top of the fridge and stowing it in a drawer below the counter so he wouldn't have to go showing it off in front of Emily just to have her leap up in her seat with that little reporter gleam in her eye and a multi-purpose quip of, _Oh!_

Like a recorder was _so_ interesting!

_Reporters_, he thought to himself irritatedly. Well, she'd been a journalist, but so what. It was the same thing, to his mind.

* * *

With a heavy sigh, Rose looked up at him and told him, "It's ready."

The timer had just given a _ding!_ and Rose was looking forward to cake. "It's going to have to cool off before you eat it, Rosie, or else you'll scold yourself," he reminded her.

"For how long?" Dallas piped up, from behind him. "Hurry up, take it out. It's gotta cool off, remember. I'm starving. Morning, Rose."

"Good morning, Dallas," Rose greeted, smiling now. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept great!"

"So did I."

The two turned their eyes to the oven.

"The television is on, if anyone is interested," Lyle pointed out. "Your mother- Enya, is in the lounge room watching it."

"So early!" Rose exclaimed. "She's going to get square eyes!" She slipped off the chair and marched out, probably to tell Emily just this, and Dallas followed her.

He sighed, and looked around for something to take the cake out with without burning himself.

* * *

Emily put her arms out for a hug and cuddled Rose, before standing up to offer Dallas a hug, too. "How are you guys this morning?" she asked in what she clearly felt a motherly, mushy voice.

"Well, that's strange," Dallas replied. "I guess we're okay, aren't we, Rose? Except for one small thing: we're not guys."

"You know what I mean," Emily replied, tilting her head to a side and smiling at her.

"Yeah, well, I thought, in _real_ life, mothers made the breakfast?" Dallas voiced, finally. "And came to get you up in the morning so you didn't sleep in."

Emily sighed. "Well, today's a special day, Dallas. Today, we're allowed to sleep in. And sometimes dads make the breakfast, too; there's nothing wrong with that."

"He's not my dad!"

"And I'm not your mother, Dal."

Dallas shot daggers from her eyes at Emily, then swiftly turned on her heel and stalked out, slamming the door after her, no doubt, just like she'd decided teenagers did in _real life_ when they were angry at their parents for something they'd done, or not done.

Rose said nothing, but reached over for the remote to switch the television off.

Emily looked at her and suppressed a heavy sigh.

* * *

When Rose and Dallas had been packed off to the back porch for some 'very special girl time' together, and to eat their breakfast, Emily sat down on the table and sighed. She shook her head. "I think the best thing for everyone would be for Dallas and I to leave as soon as possible," she said, finally, hoping that Dallas wasn't going to lose it because she wasn't having breakfast with them like _real_ families did.

She slipped off the table. "What are _we_ having for breakfast?"

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"I don't know; what do you suggest?"

"Nachos."

"Nachos?" she echoed.

"I haven't been shopping in a while," he defended.

She sighed. "Well, okay, I'll have nachos. And then we're going shopping!"

"And then I'm going shopping," he corrected. "You can... just go, if you'd prefer. Don't make this more complicated than it already is, alright. I can't handle those sorts of questions. 'It all seemed so... _perfect_!' Bullshit! 'What went wrong?' I can't do that! It makes me sick!"

Stunned, Emily put her coffee down and licked her top lip before replying, "Well, shit, I'd hate to think how you'd handle actually _feeling_ something! If you... cared, and it went wrong!"

He looked away from her, angry. "Then, at least, it'd have been real," he said, and walked out. "I'm going to check on the kids," was all he said, before disappearing from sight.

She put her coffee down to check out the cupboards but everything was virtually empty, and disgustingly new smelling.

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to go around opening all the windows and shivered. God, why did she even care? It wasn't as though it was her place; it wasn't even as though it was a friend's.

* * *

On the back porch, he sat down with the kids and stared at the non-existent backyard. It wasn't that there wasn't a backyard, but it just wasn't a backyard, at least, not yet. In a few years, it might reach that stage, but right now it only depressed him. He missed the country, he missed trees. Maybe he just missed his childhood, he thought, as crappy as it had been. It had still been his, he'd still had a family, in a way. Now... he had a sister who didn't want him, and he had all of the trouble with the company, trying to run everyone's lives, as was standard operating procedure for them.

Maybe he just hadn't gotten over the past, and, in some way, he was still living there; maybe it felt safer there, even though it hurt, and maybe that, he could handle, but a future in which he let go of the past and accepted that it was over, tomorrow was a new day, maybe that was just too hard, too frightening, too painful, too much like starting over with the past as nothing more than... as nothing. What had gone before meant nothing; all of those years meant nothing. Except, of course they will have meant something, he reasoned, they'd gotten him to this point, hadn't they?

"Do you want anything?" he asked the two girls, receiving a shake of the head from Rose and a nod from Dallas.

"I could really go for another milkshake," she said, and he held out his hand for her glass, which she handed over without complaint.

He left to refill her glass with the jug from the fridge.

* * *

"Do you want a mango milkshake?" he asked Emily, ignoring the crossed arms and scowl pointedly.

"Does it have real mango?" she asked, waiting for an excuse to go off at him, he imagined.

"It has mangoes from a can, and frozen mango yoghurt," he replied.

She walked away to get a glass for him to fill up, then returned to the kitchen table to drink it whilst he took Dallas her drink.

When he returned, he set about making the nachos and tried to think of things to put on the shopping list that wasn't sticky notes, duct tape, green Biros or the like. Or tacks. He needed tacks. But tacks weren't edible.

Turning away from the microwave, he quickly scribbled _news agency_ down on the list; he needed to buy a copy of the journal that Sydney was publishing his latest piece in, in case it came up at work any time. He'd look a right fool if he didn't know, and he was a little bit interested to see how Sydney's outlook might have changed over the years, if at all. Certainly, he had the strong feeling that it had, but would Sydney let the rest of the world know this, or would he just come up with something that fit in with the rest and be done with it?

Personally, he hoped he challenged them a bit, gave them something to think about, not just something to nod along to and check boxes, _Yep, yep, yep, that one's there, good, good; ah, yes, I wondered when that would be getting a mention._

He left the note on the table and went to collect the nachos when the microwave began to make a fuss that they were ready. _All of these appliances_, he thought darkly, _with their annoying beeping, ringing __ruckus__. And all of them, designed to last only so long so, sooner than you know, you're up and buying another one to replace the one that's gone bung – lovely, hey!_

To the list, Emily had added: _bread, milk, apples, oranges, pepper, salt, juice (apple, orange), tissues, scourers, sponges._

"I don't buy juice out of a bottle," he told her. "I don't trust it. And I don't buy bread from the supermarket. I've enough money to buy it from the bakery, and I do so."

"But you buy frozen cheesecake from the supermarket?" she quipped.

"Well, that was the last time. Happy? The fridge needed _something_ in it."

She shook her head, more to herself than to him. "Oh, and why's that? In case someone breaks in and gets hungry! Hey, they can make themselves nachos!"

He didn't bother to reply to that one, but said, "And the fruit and vegetables aren't bought at the supermarket; I don't appreciate being told one thing, and being sold another. If it's not fresh, then they could at least have the decency not to lie about it and claim it _is_! And you think the company I work for is bad." He shook his head. "We're not the only ones!"

She rolled her eyes and picked at a corn chip. "Well, hey, if you have the _money_!" she scowled.

"If I'm going to have that sort of money, then I might as well spend it rather than holding onto it and depriving the economy, or whatnot, of the circulation of wealth that everyone's always talking about."

"Why not hang onto it?" she asked. "I would, if it was mine. What about your kids? Won't you leave anything for them?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't invest any of it, but as someone who's not doing too bad, you can live with putting some of your money back into the rest of the community, at least."

"That's what charity's for," she drawled sarcastically.

"And charities don't keep people in jobs, do they? Buying the products that people manufacture and sell does."

She picked up a chip and took a small bite out of it, rolling her eyes. Yeah, yeah. He could prattle on until he was blue in the face and she still wouldn't care less; he wasn't a nice person, in her books, and that wasn't changing any time soon.

"I can see it would be pointless going into the sorts of businesses that people regularly invest in with some belief of security, and what they do."

"Rather pointless, yes," she agreed, finishing her chip and taking another, then making a face at her mucky, greasy, tomatoey fingers. She yawned and said, "What, I've put you off eating, now, have I?"

He made a huffing sound which might have been meant as sarcasm, and took on of the chips. "Hardly."

"Hardly," she repeated, sending him up, and yawned again. "Goodness gracious, I need another coffee. The way I'm going, I'm going to land myself with a heart attack quicker than I am with a... blah, blah, blah, alert." She made to rub her face, before Lyle grabbed her wrist to stop her, and she pulled a face.

"Your fingers are yucky."

She poked her tongue out at him and rubbed her face with her other hand. "And buy me a cookie, whilst you're about it," she told him, shaking her head. "One of those nice jumbo choc chip ones. I'll be waiting until you come back and then I think I might rally up the little trooper, Dallas, and get ready to go. In the meantime, I might fall asleep just here at the table, if that's alright with you."

He shook his head and stood up, pulling her to her feet and walking with her to the kitchen sink. "Here, wash your hands and go and lie down. I'll wake you up when I get back."

She shook her head, but allowed him to help her with washing her hands, and frowned at the hot water tap as though it might be some other type of tap, instead, only cunning disguised as a hot water tap, which may be missed by the sleepy eye.

Dallas appeared in the hallway with Rose when Emily and he were leaving the kitchen and he said, to the kids, "I have a feeling your mother was up until all hours worrying about you two."

"Like a _real_ mother," Dallas responded quickly, not in the least sympathetic, "you've got to be joking!" And then she let out a loud peel of laughter that had Emily almost leaping away from her.

For a moment, Rose stared at Dallas as though about to tell her that her comment had been really mean, but then Lyle had said, "I'm going shopping and you're welcome to add anything that you think we might need to the list; I've left it on the kitchen table with a pen," and Rose was off, presumably with a long list of We needs.

"I don't need to lie down; I'm wide awake," Emily told him, suppressing a big yawn with her hand, and rubbing her cheek profusely.

"I think you do, and the kids happen to think so, too," he lied, hoping that she wouldn't ask him where and when he'd learnt that one, because the kids hadn't mentioned any such thoughts in the hallway when they'd met up with them. "Rest," he told her. "You can theorise and plan and plot as much as you like once you've rested, but not until then. A person needs foresight and a level head about them to make really good plans, and, right now, you have neither. And plotting takes effort, and attention to detail, and lot of attention to detail, and you've got to be appraised of everything right when it happens, right when it happens, you can't be falling asleep halfway through and think, I'll just Google that last bit, why isn't it on Google, damn it! It's tricky businesses. Now, off to sleep."

"I'm not sleepy," Emily slurred, struggling not to allow her eyes to close.

He patted her hair. "Not at all," he agreed, though, had she not been sleepy, she'd surely have slapped his hand away.

He sighed and left to let her get some rest, looking around quickly to make sure that there was nothing lying around which might distract her and keep her awake: a book, a notepad, her cell phone, an e-book reader, a laptop, anything.

Everything seemed in order, so he walked back to the kitchen where Rose was scribbling down: _Fabric softener that makes things cuddly and huggy & pretty-smelling laundry liquid._

Dallas rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Rose, you've been watching too many ads or something, because if you think that stuff actually works, wow, you're even more... of a kid than I am!"

"I am a kid," Rose reminded her, and Dallas shook her head, reaching for the paper and pen to write something of her own down.

_Happy pills_, she wrote, adding a smilie at the end: _:-)_.

"Dallas, you don't need happy pills," Lyle told her, unimpressed at that comment. He took the pen off her and turned her around to face him. "You need to let yourself see the brighter side to life rather than just the bits that get you down."

She rolled her eyes. "You call it _life_, but I call it _Hell_!"

"It's not, Dallas. It's not. You shouldn't be thinking like that. It's... it's not right. You know Emily just wants you to have the best you can, under the circumstances. She doesn't want you to be hurt and it's not just because she's thinking back to her own bad experiences thinking she can undo them through you, or something like that, Dallas. It's not that, at all. She cares about you for you, because you're... Why not, Dallas? Why not care about you? There's nothing about you that could possibly make you less able to be cared for by someone else. Don't you even think that way. And if you do, you're just being harsh on yourself, Dallas. You're as loveable as anyone, and, you know what, I think you're perfect just the way you are. You shouldn't look at what other people say about you and think, _Holy shit, they really know their shit and I don't know anything_, because that's not true, Dallas. You know about you, that's what, and you've got to respect yourself enough to see that. You're here, aren't you? You're alive! What's not awesome about that, Dallas! You're totally awesome just as you are, if you want to be, if you want to look at yourself that way!"

He looked at Rose. "Rosie, you know how awesome Dallas is, don't you?"

Rose nodded. "I love you, Dallas."

Dallas cracked up. "You two are ridiculous!" she said, between bouts of laughter, sitting down quickly in one of the chairs.

"We might be ridiculous, upon occasion, that's true, but we wouldn't lie to you about something like that, Dallas, and I think you know it, too. I think you know there's absolutely no reason to be so down on yourself and on other people because you feel bad about yourself that you have to let other people know how you feel, too. There are so many ways in which we can relate to other people, and don't make the mistake of thinking that hurt and hatred are the only ones. Maybe they're the easiest ones, for some people, but they're not the best ones, Dallas. You know which ones are the best ones, don't you. I know you do."

Rose sprung up and down on the bottoms of her toes. "Love!" she cried.

"That's it; Rosie has it," he agreed.


End file.
